“I’m gonna run to the hardware store and pick up the nails for the lock above the bathroom door. Do you want me to put her in her highchair so she is easier to watch?”
I level a steady eye on Emma and she looks up at me, smiling and giving me all the answers I need. I can’t trust that expression. There’s no way she’ll give me peace while Nate makes a hardware trip.
“Let’s let her rest in the pack and play.” Emma hears and her face turns into a scowl. But once she’s situated, I’ll turn on the TV and she’ll forget all about it. When I’m back on my feet, we’re going back to TV-free days, even if I’ve learned to love the distractions.
“I won’t be gone long,” Nate says after putting a few toys in the play pen to keep Emma busy. “Do you need anything else?”
I don’t, but my answer’s stymied when he stops by the couch and leans down, almost as if he’s a boyfriend giving me a kiss on the forehead goodbye. However, before his lips make contact he realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. Rather than a kiss, he taps me on the shoulder as a friendly form of comfort.
I lied when I thought things couldn’t get more awkward in this apartment. Nate needs to hear how much I like him before our relationship ends up in a place I don’t want it to be. Like the friend-zone.
“No, I’m good. Thanks. Umm… We’ll be here when you get back.” I’m forced to yell the last part as Nate waves goodbye and rushes out the door as fast as possible, not looking back once. Damn it. Why didn’t I just blurt it out when I had the chance?
In an attempt to keep Emma from causing any more expensive plumbing issues by flushing her toys, Nate agreed to install a lock above the bathroom door. I’m just hoping it won’t cut into the security deposit when we move out. If I even still stand any chance of getting something back, anyway. He was all set to go until we realized the lock package didn’t include nails and I don’t own any. Nails for sure went to Barry in the divorce.
At least three minutes of silence passed as he stared at me trying to figure out why I didn’t have a small container of nails in the apartment. I spent the same time staring back at him, wondering why he thought I would have any nails in my apartment.
Emma squeals in the pack and play and I turn on PBS, hopeful since it’s still morning they’ll air children’s shows for younger kids playing.
There’s a knock on the door. I groan when it doesn’t open and I realize I must get up and answer it. Nate’s in a lot of trouble for forgetting those keys he made himself. If he’s going to hijack my place, he can at least remember to take them with him.
Using only one crutch — see I am getting better — I work my way to the door as soon as possible. I’m smiling, ready to laugh at the puzzled expression he’ll be wearing afer he realized he got to his truck and had no way to start it.
“I can’t believe you made me get up because you forgot your keys,” I say opening the door as my mouth falls open and I’m left standing face to face with the last person I expected to see today.
My mother.
“Well that’s not a way to greet your mother,” she sputters already annoyed, which isn’t a good sign.
I step back. “Hello, Mother. I didn’t expect you.” In fact, didn’t I call and tell her not to bother coming because I had it under control? Why would she listen to me now when she hadn’t all the times before in these situations? Why would she drive here now?
She pushes her way past me, much like someone trying to break and enter, and stops about five feet in scanning the apartment. “I told you I was coming to help.”
“Yes, but then I toldyouI had everything under control.” Twice. I told her twice!
My mother shakes her head in disbelief and clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “And you always were a horrible liar, Josie. I knew there was no way you could get by without me. I’m only sad it took me so long to get here. I can see from the state of things you haven’t been holding up well.”
“If you had told me you were coming, I would’ve picked up more.” I face the same direction she is and look around the apartment. Emma’s blocks are on the floor and one bowl sits on the kitchen counter from breakfast this morning, but she can’t see the other few items hiding in the sink. Given the situation, I don’t think the place looks bad, especially considering I have done nothing in days and Nate does his best to keep us all up and moving.
“I told you I’d be here this morning.” She doesn’t waste any time and walks right over to Emma, almost recoiling when she sees the way her granddaughter’s dressed.
We must have had this conversation on a day when I was still taking pain medication because I’m sure I’d remember if my mother said she was planning a visit. I would’ve taken action beforehand.
Like moved.
“Who did her hair like this? And the socks… You can’t let her go public like this. What will the neighbors think?”
“We’re not going out in public,” I say once back in my spot on the couch, leaving the crutch against the arm rest.
If I wasn’t injured, and I cared more about what my mother thought, I’d be busy cleaning up the house as she ranted about what I’d done wrong. But I’ve heard so much of it since the divorce I’m building up immunity. Don’t get me wrong, she still annoys the crap out of me, but I now realize I can never live up to her standards. The only person who lives up to Samantha’s standards is Samantha.
“You don’t have a candle burning. If the neighbors can’t smell how much nicer your place is than theirs, then what’s the point of living in an apartment?”
I roll my eyes but make sure she can’t see. “My neighbors don’t care if there’s a candle.”
“The hostess guideline does. Your home should always have a welcoming smell when someone enters. Yours smells like…” She sniffs the air crinkling her nose. “Toilet water.”
Good to see old age hasn’t cost her any of her five senses.
